


When I Find You I Find Me

by adelaide_rain



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Forgiveness, M/M, Making Up, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Regret, Reunions, The Deep Roads (I'm so sorry)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-05-29 03:48:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15064466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adelaide_rain/pseuds/adelaide_rain
Summary: Hawke has made a lot of mistakes, but leaving Fenris may be the one he regrets most.As he makes his way to Weisshaupt, Hawke overhears a Tevinter plan to attack the Lyrium Ghost. He intervenes - to save Fenris, and to make things right.





	1. Chapter 1

The Lyrium Ghost.

Hawke first hears the name in a tavern in the disputed lands between Tevinter and Orlais. 

It’s a rundown ramshackle tavern, which means that it fits in very well with the lands around it. Given that both countries value aesthetics so dearly, he's surprised either of them want anything to do with it. There's nothing here but jagged rock, mud and half-dead forests. Nothing beautiful, useful or valuable. But Hawke knows the real reason they want it: so the other can't have it.

It's an ugly country, but the people are honest, and they warm to Hawke once they discover he’s Fereldan. They consider him a brother, given the Orlesian occupation of Ferelden not so long ago. They are the Free Men, so they say, fighting against Orlais and Tevinter both, and a group of them invite him to join their table. 

Hawke declines, in no mood for company. It’s been a few weeks since leaving Adamant, and Stroud's fate weighs heavily on him. So much weighs heavily on him these days, all his failures stacking up on his shoulders, new ones added all the time, the weight of them never letting him forget the consequences of his mistakes. 

The mess that is Kirkwall. 

The Mage-Templar War. 

A friend abandoned in the Fade.

And Fenris. 

More than anything else, Hawke tries not to think of him, but more than anything else, he does. 

He left Fenris. With a shrug and an apologetic smile, and an excuse: _we’re too recognisable if we stay together_. He tells himself it was for the best, that Fenris is better off without him. That Fenris is alive, and he might not be if he'd come with Hawke. That Fenris would have despised being stuck in the Fade - that he might not have made it out.

All of these things are true. 

None of them are the whole truth.

The truth is simpler than that: he left Fenris because he was afraid.

He was terrified of seeing Fenris hurt because of him, and so he hurt Fenris instead. 

_Such a coward,_ Hawke thinks, the thought bitter and venomous and true. 

He drinks his ale, trying to drown out the taste of regret. 

And then he hears it above the rumble of the conversation. 

_The Lyrium Ghost._

Hawke freezes. 

They can't mean Fenris, surely. It would be too odd for strangers to be talking about him in this distant land.

But who else could it mean?

He glances around, listening hard, trying to discern who spoke. The tavern is busy, and people are laughing and talking in half a dozen languages. It takes Hawke a moment to pin it down. 

“He’s just a man,” someone says. 

“Just a man who can tear your heart out of your chest,” says the first voice, and Hawke looks over at the speakers, certain now that they must be talking about Fenris. 

A few tables over, two men sit, drinking ale. Their armour is fine, finer than that belonging to any other person in the bar. It's disguised, a little, but not too much, as if they couldn't bear the thought of anyone thinking them poor. They're talking in the King's Tongue, which is common here, but it's yet another poor disguise - they're not even trying to hide their accent.

Tevinter, Hawke thinks, feeling cold. 

Tevinters talking about Fenris. That can't be good news.

Hawke listens closely, trying to block out the background noise of the tavern and focus on their words. 

"The magister said he's having no more of this,” the first one says, shaking his head. “An upstart ex-slave attacking slavers? Inspiring other ex-slaves to fight their former masters? How long until the slaves at home hear and rise up against us?"

The other snorts. "My slaves wouldn't dare. They know their place."

"Oh yes? So sure, are you? The magister's not, and I daresay he knows better than you. That's why he's setting a trap for this Lyrium Ghost."

"What kind of trap?” He asks, looking at the other with narrowed eyes. “This elf is supposed to be dangerous."

"The type with lots of men with swords." He finishes his ale and slams the empty tankard down on the table, carelessly tossing a few coppers by its side. "Are you ready?" 

His comrade pales, but nods. "Let's just kill this elf and get it over with." He stands, checks his weapon, looks to the other. "In hope your sword's sharp."

"Aye," he replies, then winks at the barmaid. "And maybe after we're done, I'll get my other sword sharpened, eh?"

Hawke's jaw tightens. His fists curl, wanting to lash out at these men who threaten Fenris, but he keeps a leash on his temper. It'll do no good to attack them now – they said there were others, so he needs to know where they're going. 

He waits until they’re near the door, then stands, leaving coin for his ale, and follows. 

Outside, the men head north. They aren’t particularly cautious, but Hawke keeps his distance to make sure he stays unnoticed. 

They leave town and head through one of the half-dead woods, the diseased trees missing most of their leaves and their dark branches reaching toward the sky like grasping, skeletal hands. Victims of a long ago Blight, Hawke guesses, though he isn’t sure which one. Along one side of their path, a craggy grey cliff rises steeply, blocking out the sunlight and leaving them steeped in shadow.

Now that they’re alone with no crowds to hide in, Hawke drops back a little further, making sure to stay out of sight. He’s surprisingly good at it; it comes from a lifetime of hiding for Bethany’s sake, for his father’s; lessons from Isabela and Varric come in handy too. 

He keeps his footsteps silent, but his quarry aren’t paying much attention to their surroundings. They laugh as they walk, their words floating back to Hawke through the trees. Unfortunately they’re gossiping about someone in Minrathous, rather than helpfully talking about the force they’re joining or the magister’s plans.

Hawke wonders about the size of their force, thinks about what he knows about Tevinter fighting styles learned from Fenris and fighting slavers and more recently, the Venatori. 

He tries _not_ to think about what might have happened if he hadn't overheard, and about what a fool he was to think that just because he wasn't around, Fenris wouldn't be in danger. 

How selfish it was - because deep down he _knew_ the truth. He just didn't want to be the one responsible for Fenris getting hurt. 

His lips thin, self-hatred sitting in his belly like acid, but he keeps following the Tevinters. If redemption is to be had for his mistake, then this is the path to it. 

But most of all, he has to keep Fenris safe. 

The ground is starting to rise on the other side of them now, and ahead Hawke can see through the trees that the way narrows to form a narrow canyon. 

It’s the perfect place for an ambush.

Ahead, there's the sound of a lot of people making a token effort to be quiet and not doing a very good job of it. He sees them through the trees – a few dozen, maybe more. All of this for Fenris, Hawke thinks, and is fiercely proud of him as well as being afraid for him. They’re armed and armoured, and there are a few mages, marked by their staffs. They mill about as if waiting for someone or something – orders, perhaps, from the magister the men in the tavern mentioned. 

Turning his attention to the canyon, Hawke wishes he'd had more time or reason to look at maps of the area. He has no idea what’s on the other side of it, save, presumably, for Fenris. Despite his lack of knowledge, it’s where Hawke must go. 

He stays as far from the small army of Tevinters as he can, sticking to the shadows and using the cover of trees. None of them are particularly observant, thankfully; so sure of their advantage, they don’t think to keep a lookout. 

Creeping from tree to tree, he pauses before darting into the canyon itself. He presses himself against the wall so that he’ll be hidden should any of them look over, and pauses, listening, to be certain he’s not been seen. There’s no outcry and no sudden movement, so Hawke judges that he's not been spied, and shifts his focus to the canyon. 

Long and winding as it is, he can’t see where it leads. For a moment he considers laying an ambush of his own here but quickly dismisses the idea. There are too many of them, and even if he could stop them, he knows the Tevinter mindset well enough to be sure this won’t be the end. If someone wants the Lyrium Ghost’s blood, they will throw wave after wave after him, heedless of the cost of coin or men. Fenris needs to know of his reputation, of the danger he's in, so Hawke needs to talk with him. 

Pursing his lips, Hawke reconsiders the ambush; foolishly dangerous, but it’s almost preferable to the way Fenris will look at him. Anger, bitterness – maybe even hatred. He deserves it, yes, but it still makes his chest ache to imagine.

Forcing himself to pay attention, Hawke makes his way through the canyon. The noise of the army behind him quickly fades to nothing – if Fenris is indeed on the other side, he’ll have no idea that they’re there. At one point, the canyon grows very narrow - they're going to have to come down here single file for part of the way. That knowledge might come in useful. 

Finally Hawke comes out into daylight, so abruptly that it makes him blink to clear his vision.

And then he sees Fenris, sword out and ready to fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO HEY! Looks like I'm back on my Dragon Age bullshit ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> I started this particular story a few years ago when I wrote a lot of fenhawke, and promptly forgot about it until I recently found it on my phone. I'm not sure how long it'll be - I'm terrible at guessing. Five parts? I'll try to post weekly since most of it is drafted, but I can't promise - I'm a bit snowed under with work at the moment. 
> 
> You can find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/adelaide_rain) and [tumblr](http://raininginadelaide.tumblr.com) if you fancy watching me yell about Dragon Age, enamel pins and pictures of cats. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Fenris!

Hawke stares for moment, stuck breathless at the sight of him, every part of him aching. Maker, Fenris is beautiful. _Maker,_ Hawke’s missed him. He wants to say something, he _should_ say something, but what? What words could possibly suffice when Hawke left him, with naught more than a smile and a shrug and an excuse. 

Despite the whirlwind of thoughts, Hawke’s been in enough fights to lift his hands to show that he's not a threat.

And that is a good thing, for Fenris is not alone.

Tearing his eyes away from Fenris, Hawke takes in his companions.

With a start he notices Jethann, one of the workers from the Blooming Rose. It's so odd, so unexpected, that for a moment Hawke wonders if he's hit his head and all of this is a hallucination. But Jethann has twin daggers in his hands, and he’s looking unusually serious.

There are two female elves as well, one holding a bow and the other a staff.

Fenris, choosing to work with a mage? Hawke stares, startled, but his attention is captured by a group behind them. Thirty or so elves; from their gaunt frames and the rags they wear, he'd guess that they're freed - or escaped - slaves.

Freed slaves that are about to get captured or slaughtered by the men who will shortly come through the canyon behind him.

_Shit._

"Hawke?" That's not Fenris. It's Jethann, who's lowered his blades. Jethann looks from Hawke to Fenris and back again, uncertain for a moment, but then his usual smirk clicks into place. "Well, honey, I'm touched that you'd come all this way for little old me."

Hawke ignores him; he's looking around the area. It's a dead end, there's no way out of this place other than the canyon. All he can see is a cave entrance - a slaver cave, no doubt, probably where these came from or where they're going.

"You know this human?" The mage snarls. Dalish, her face is graced with vallaslin and she's glaring at Hawke with true vehemence.

Fenris lowers his sword but his eyes are narrow. "What are you doing here, Hawke?" He asks, voice too calm.

Hawke ignores the churning, desperate need to beg for Fenris's forgiveness - that has to wait until they're safe.

"There are two dozen men behind me, armed," Hawke says, striding forward, pointing behind toward the canyon. "Tevinters, and at least five of them looked to be mages. I overheard two of them in a tavern talking about a trap laid for the Lyrium Ghost and came to warn you."

Fenris goes very still and then swears in Tevene. Hawke notices,with a sudden and very inappropriate rush of affection, that Fenris's hair is longer, and tied into a braid with a certain scrap of red silk. 

"I knew it," the mage says, fury writ over her face. "Humans always think this way! Using our kind as bait-"

"Velanna, we don’t have time for this," Fenris snaps at her, and she purses her lips but doesn’t argue. "You said that the cave leads to the Deep Roads?"

"Yes," she nods, and Hawke tries not to groan. Of course the only way out of a death trap is the Deep Roads - there’s certainly no other reason to go to those Maker-cursed tunnels. At least now, given recent experiences, Hawke can say one good thing about the Deep Roads: at least they're not the Fade. "But the map I have is old," Velanna continues. "Who knows how many cave-ins there have been? It could take us weeks to get to the other side."

"Not to mention all the darkspawn that are hiding down there," Jethann says, far too cheerily. "Let's not forget _that_ fun fact."

"We don't have a choice," the other woman, a redhead, says, shaking her head. "The four of us might be able to sneak past these pursuers since your friend's given us warning, but the slaves-"

She's interrupted as an echoing cry comes from the canyon behind them.

"Velanna, landslide!" Fenris yells, lifting his sword again, but by the time she's cast her spell and cut off the passageway, six Tevinters are through and already there's the sound of force magic thumping from the other side, trying to break through the blockade.

No time to worry about that.

First the Tevinters in front of them. 

Sword up, Fenris charges and Hawke finds himself following, taking his old place by his side. As his blade clashes with a Tevinter one, Hawke is vaguely aware of the redhead ushering the terrified slaves into the cavern, of Jethann darting around the battle, of Velanna bringing lightning down upon the humans with a fearsome Dalish war cry, lighting the whole clearing eye-wateringly blue. She's a force of nature and fierce, and Hawke hopes she doesn't forget that he's one of the good guys.

It's a nasty fight, but the Tevinters clearly weren't expecting to be on their own, and thankfully none of them are mages. Within minutes, the Tevinters are defeated. 

Once they're all down, small rocks are already skittering down Velanna's landslide - it won't take long until they're through.

Urgency thumping in his blood, Hawke says, "We have to get out of here."

Fenris nods sharply at gestures at the fallen Tevinters. "Grab their supplies," he says, and they do - potions belts, packs that contain a little food and water.

A couple of the slaves run up too, thin as the others but with grim determination flashing in their eyes. 

"I am Loriann. I can fight," one of them says, a slight young woman who must still be in her teens. 

Fenris looks at her. "You would fight the magisters?"

"I think my master sent me here because I kept trying to escape. A few of us said the same thing. None of us had much love for our masters and as soon as they had the opportunity to get rid of us they did."

"My master feared rebellion," the other says, an old man with a bald head and wiry limbs. "I'd been part of a failed one in my youth - he's wanted to get rid of me for years, but I still had my uses." Absentmindedly he runs a finger over one of the many white scars on his arms. Hawke realises that they are likely where his former master cut him to fuel blood magic, and anger boils inside him. He will do everything he can to make sure they get out of here. He might have come here for Fenris but these people deserve a chance at freedom. 

"Fine," Fenris says, nodding and taking a dagger from one of the bodies, slipping it into his belt before straightening. "But we are going into the Deep Roads. It will be darkspawn you face."

They both nod, undeterred, and grab weapons: him a short sword, her a bow and a full quiver. Fenris calls for any others who can use a weapon to get one, and two elves run forward. They look to be around Hawke's age, a man and a woman with brown skin and black curls. Resembling each other closely, Hawke guesses they must be related. He grabs a sword, she grabs daggers. The other elves stay where they are, expressions ranging from terror to blankness, which is even worse. They don't care what happens to them.

Hawke does though, and he promises himself he will protect them, whatever the cost. 

As a bang rattles more of the landslide lose, Fenris cries, “Into the cave!” 

They go, all of them. Some are afraid, some are merely following orders without question, because it’s what they’ve always done.

It leaves a bitter taste in Hawke's mouth, and he tries not to think about it.

Instead he looks around at the space. Much like the slaver caves in Kirkwall, it’s lit by lava, a trick stolen from the dwarves. That makes it stifling, even more with almost forty people shoved into such a small place. 

Near the door there's a few chests, one with skins of water, the other filled with a little food, a little fruit and parcels of something like ship's biscuit. 

"They didn't know how long we'd be down here before you arrived," Loriann explains. "They wanted us alive."

"Else I'd be suspicious," Fenris mutters, and orders those with bags to pack all of it. If they are to be in the Deep Road for a week, they'll everything they can get, and even then it'll be short rations. "Whatever their provenance, we'll take them. Shianni, help me." 

The redhead goes to him, helping him lift one of the chests. Hawke is itching with curiosity about what in the Maker's name is going on here, but now is not the time for questions. He helps Jethann lift the other chest, finding it heavy and cumbersome but manageable, at least until they're out of danger. 

Immediate danger, anyway. The Deep Roads have dangers of their own. 

Velanna, staff in one hand and map in the other, leads the way to a door at the far end of the room, just as a loud _bang_ tells them the Tevinters have broken through the landslide. 

Turning and roaring a Dalish battle cry, Velanna lets out a wave of force magic that makes Hawke's ears pop and there is a crashing so loud that some of the ex-slaves begin to cry. And after, a silence so intense that they stop, that no one barely dares breathe. 

"You must have brought the roof down," Jethann whispers, and Velanna nods curtly.

"That was the idea. They won't get through that easily, or in a hurry. Even if they're inclined to, we'll be long gone by the time they make it through."

"Then let us make haste," Fenris says as she opens the door to blackness beyond. A couple of the elves grab torches from the walls, and Velanna lights them. Whispering a spell to make the crystal atop her staff glow, she leads the way into the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! <3
> 
> As always, you can find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/adelaide_rain) and [tumblr](http://raininginadelaide.tumblr.com).


	3. Chapter 3

The Deep Roads are as awful as always.

Hawke is hoping, sincerely, that it won’t be as terrible as last time. The odds are in his favour; they’ve already unleashed red lyrium into the world, what could be worse than that?

Everyone is quiet as they walk - down, at first, down and down and down, steep enough that they have to be careful, else risk losing their footing. The freed slaves huddle together, some holding hands or clinging to each other’s arms. Hawke can’t even imagine how awful it is for them; to risk everything and make a break for freedom only to run headlong into _this_. He tightens his jaw and stands a little taller. No matter what, he _will_ get them out of here.

They continue down, and down, and down some more, but eventually the path flattens out and they pause to catch their breath. The ones carrying the crates put them down, glad of the reprieve, and Hawke rolls his shoulders, wincing.

The ceiling is so high and the space so wide that the torches and Velanna’s witchlight do little to light the way. There’s a small circle of illumination in which the elves huddle, trying not to look at each other. 

“Well, this is delightful,” Jethann says, his lips thin as he squints, trying to see through the gloom.

Hawke doubts that even the elves, with their superior dark vision, can see much more than he can. There is no light down here, none at all. He can see only the stones beneath his feet, cracked and broken; other, larger stones piled up at the sides of the path make Hawke think there must have been other travellers here in the long years since the entrance was sealed. 

“There’s usually light in the Deep Roads,” Fenris says, glaring into the darkness. “From lava. Something must have interrupted the flow.”

“Maybe there’ll be some further down,” Hawke suggests, and Fenris’s gaze flickers to him, eyes shining silver in the witchlight. He doesn’t speak for a moment, making Hawke wish he’d kept his mouth shut, but then,

“Let us hope so. In any case, we should move on. If the slavers break through, we want to be as far away as possible.”

Hawke nods, then leans down to pick up the crate, glancing up at Jethann who sighs before grabbing the other side of it.

“I’m too pretty for manual labour,” he mutters, but together they pick it up and follow the others, sticking close in the darkness. 

Eventually they come to a large door, locked, but a blast of magic takes care of that. Inside, Hawke is relieved to see the usual lights of the Deep Roads – as much as he’s glad to see _any_ part of the Deep Roads. Once the group is gathered on the other side of the door, Velanna blocks it with the shattered remains of a column, and they take the time to rest.

As they do, they check the supplies in the crates: hardtack, dried meat, dried fruit, and water. Between the crates, along with Hawke’s pack and what they scavenged from the Tevinters on the surface, there is enough to last a week if they’re careful.

“The journey above ground would’ve been a month,” Fenris says. “We would’ve had to stay far from the main roads to avoid capture. But we would’ve been able to hunt and refill the water skins. Here, we have no such luck.”

Velanna is looking at her maps with a glare fierce enough to set them afire. 

“The maps are old,” she says. “I don’t know how many cave ins there have been, how many passageways are still viable.”

“If the maps are true, how long to the next entrance?” Fenris asks, peering over her shoulder at them.

“This one,” she says, pointing at it with a long finger. “Perhaps three days. The next,” she points again, “A week. Beyond that...”

She doesn’t continue; she doesn’t need to. 

Beyond that, people start dying.

“One of them will be open,” Jethann says cheerily, and pats Hawke’s arm. “Hawke here is a good luck charm. Things always work out for him.”

Hawke’s not sure about _working out,_ but despite very long odds he’s survived again and again when he had no right to. Thinking of Stroud, Hawke looks away. Perhaps Jethann is right, though; perhaps his _good luck_ will get them out of here; _all_ of them.

Velanna raises a doubtful eyebrow at Hawke; Fenris doesn’t look at him at all. Instead he says, 

“We should split the provisions so that no one is overburdened, especially those who can fight. It’s likely we’ll face darkspawn down here even if the slavers leave us be, which I have no hope of.”

“Darkspawn...?” Loriann asks, her eyes wide; she swallows, but then nods. “I - I will face them.”

“And I,” the older elf says, with much less trepidation. “It’s not the first time.”

The two who look like siblings glance at each other, but both of them nod, shifting to stand a little closer together. 

The group doesn’t have much in the way of bags but with a clever use of scarves and cloaks, which aren’t needed in the heat of the Deep Roads, soon everyone has a pack of provisions. Even the children carry some small amount, saying they wanted to help. They look confused, even scared, when Hawke reminds them not to eat or drink too much. 

“They grew up as slaves,” the older elf says from nearby, having overheard. “They would never take so much as a bite without permission.” 

Hawke’s stomach twists unpleasantly. “I - see. I’m sorry.”

He shrugs. “You’re a southerner, you’re not to know.”

“Still. I should’ve thought.”

The man looks at him a long moment, then says, “I think you’re carrying a burden far heavier than that crate, friend. Perhaps you should set that down, too, lest it crush you.”

“Would that I could,” Hawke adds. “I’m Hawke, by the way.” 

The older elf introduces himself as Ker; the siblings - twins, it turns out - overhear them and introduce themselves too: the man is Tann, the woman Daria. They were bodyguards for a magister. Ker managed the house for his master, but in his younger years he was a mercenary in Nevarra, who through a mixture of bad decisions and worse luck found himself shackled and in the hands of a slaver.

Hawke apologises again and Ker shrugs.

“It happened before you were born, Hawke. It’s not something you could’ve done anything about.”

And maybe Hawke couldn’t have helped Ker then, but if he’d stayed with Fenris perhaps he could’ve fought against slavers now. He swallows down the bitter taste in his mouth, and at Fenris’s order, they set off again. 

They get into formation with the fighters surrounding the others: Velanna takes point, leading the way with her witchlit staff, and Fenris and Shianni just behind her. Hawke and Jethann at the back, since attack is most likely to come from ahead or from the rear. The twins on one side, Loriann and Ker the other, just in case. 

For such a large group it’s eerily quiet. There’s no chattering, no outbursts of fear or anger. Just following, doing what they’re told, like Orana when she first came to work for Hawke, so used to doing what they’re told that they wouldn’t dream of questioning orders. It makes Hawke’s heart break, and it makes him even more determined to get them out of here.

“So what’s happening here?” Hawke asks Jethann, keeping his voice low. “They said their former masters had given them provisions?”

“Well,” Jethann says, tapping his lips. “We’d heard there was a group of escaped slaves who needed our help. We went to them and, surprise surprise, it was a trap. An obvious one, now I think on it.”

“And how did you end up working with Fenris?”

“I got the hell out of Kirkwall after _that_ whole mess and didn’t really know what to do with myself. I did some - freelancing,” he says, and winks saucily at Hawke in case he didn’t get the implication, “And a couple of months ago I ran into Fenris. He told me what he was doing and I decided to join him.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do. Because freelancing is far more dangerous than working in a brothel, and fighting slavers is a safer option. Because Fenris is _very_ pretty.” He grins when Hawke glares at him. “All of the above and then some others that I’ll keep to myself. A boy’s got to have some secrets, Hawke. What about you? I hear you joined the Inquisition."

"I didn't join. I just assisted them for a while."

"Hmm," Jethann says, then grins. "I saw a sketch of the Inquisitor in the last town we were in. Is he as much of a dreamboat in real life?"

A laugh escapes Hawke then, and he smiles at Jethann. He might be wearing armour and have daggers at his back, but some things never change. "Yes, he's handsome."

"But he's with that Tevinter, isn't he?" Jethann says with a twist of his lips, and then glances from Fenris to Hawke. "Not that being from Tevinter is necessarily a bad thing! But, uh. I don't think I'm all that keen on the humans there. No offence."

"None taken."

They continue for a few hours, until the children and older folk are struggling to go on. There’s a brief discussion about the benefits of sleeping on the road, the better choice for escaping easily; or finding a room, which would offer more shelter and a place to hide. 

A room wins out, and they find one easily enough, off to the side of the main road, with two doors to escape through if it comes to that. 

There’s not much in the room - a bookcase with ancient dwarven books, a broken table, a smashed crate. Whatever was in it is long gone. There are a few empty containers and a few pieces of parchment scattered over the floor, but other than that, the room is empty.

“We’ll stay here,” Fenris tells the group. “Those of who can fight will take turns keeping guard. The rest of you should sleep.”

Most of the others nod automatically, content to follow orders. They sit, huddled in small groups, and are still quiet, though in this more private space a few of them murmur to each other in small voices.

“We'll take it in turns sleeping," Fenris says as he turns to the fighters, and Hawke fees a pull of pride in his belly at how confidently Fenris takes charge. "There are nine of us, so we'll go in threes. Two teams a night take guard, one after the other; the third rests the whole night so that at least one group will be fully rested.”

The twins grab each other’s hand and Jethann gallantly offers to team up with them, though Hawke knows him well enough to be sure it's not entirely altruistic. Velanna straight up refuses to be teamed with _the human_ , and says she'll be with Shianni and Ker. Which leaves Fenris with Hawke and Loriann.

Fenris's jaw tightens but he doesn't say anything. Insubordination in the ranks? Hawke knows exactly how he feels. At least none of these elves are likely to blow up a chantry with a hundred people trapped inside and start a war that will kill thousands. 

"We'll go first, then," Fenris says. "Jethann, make sure everyone has something to eat and then get some rest. You’re on second watch.”

“Aye aye,” Jethann says, and sets to work handing out jerky and dried fruit from the provisions, before sitting against a wall and instantly flirting with both twins.

Fenris pulls both doors open enough that they’ll see anyone – or anything – approaching, then takes a seat in the corner where he’ll be able to see through both of them. Loriann looks uncertain for a moment, then upturns a bucket to sit beside him, chewing on her jerky in silence. 

Hawke watches Fenris for a moment, wanting to say something, but what could he possibly say? This is far from the right place for heartfelt apologies or screaming matches, and he’s honestly not sure it would end up being. They need to talk, he’s certain of that, even if it only goes as far as Fenris refusing to accept his apology. Even that would be something; a conclusion, an ending. Even that would be better than the awkwardness and longing and guilt.

_When we get out of here,_ Hawke promises himself. _We’ll talk._

Hawke stays on his feet and hopes for so many reasons that they reach the exit soon.


End file.
